Challenges
by Ragua
Summary: Trip’s unconscious in sickbay (again!), and T’Pol gives him the kick in the ass he needs to get better.


Title: Challenges  
Author: Ragua  
Date: May 18, 2004  
Rating PG-13 (Language—Trip's and mine)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Paramount. I get no money—just havin' a little fun.  
Summary: Trip's unconscious in sickbay (again!), and T'Pol gives him the kick in the ass he needs to get better.  
Author's notes: This was originally supposed to be the culmination of a much longer story, but the bastards went and killed Degra, and I can't do A/U.  
Archive: Sure, why not.  
  
****

ChallengesLife, that dares send  
A challenge to his end,  
And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend!'  
—Richard Crashaw  
  
The emptiness seemed to go on forever. It was neither dark nor light. It was nothing. Fear gripped T'Pol. Was his katra—or its human equivalent—gone? Was the body that currently lay in sickbay connected to numerous machines merely the shell of the man she had known?  
  
She ruthlessly suppressed all emotion and supposition. It was illogical to come to a conclusion so early in the procedure. She began to move deeper into the nothingness, but a distant voice caused her to hesitate.  
  
Sub-Commander? Are you all right?  
  
It was Phlox. Another level of her mind acknowledged that her body stood next to the commander's bio-bed in sickbay. With great difficulty, she responded to the doctor's inquiry, while maintaining her tenuous mental link with Commander Tucker.  
  
The commander is...lost. I must seek him. It may take some time. Her physical form saw the doctor exchange a look of concern with Captain Archer, although both men kept their positions by the bio-monitors. All the while, however, her thoughts floated in the nothingness, searching for any sign of the mind that should reside there.  
  
she projected. Commander, can you hear me? Can you sense my presence? Again T'pol fruitlessly scanned the horizon of his mind. A sense of desperation led her to uncharacteristic familiarity. Charles! Charles Tucker! Please respond! You must respond!  
  
The personal appeal succeeded where her formal inquiry had not. She sensed something—a movement? No, more like a flinch, as if her demand had been painful. She moved quickly and purposefully in the direction from which her mind had sensed the movement.  
  
And came upon a small child.  
  
Although she could not see his face, T'pol recognized the boy as Commander Tucker from her experience with Sim. He was curled up in a fetal position, shivering. He did not acknowledge her presence, but continued to cringe and shiver.  
  
T'pol began, and then hesitated. Obviously a small boy would not react to a military designation. Mr. Tucker! Then more gently,   
  
The child did not unclench his body, but T'pol sensed a slight release, not quite a relaxation. She knelt by the trembling form and laid her hand on the child's head.  
  
Comm—...Charles. You need not be afraid. You are safe. We managed to transport you from engineering in time. You are in sickbay. When this produced no response, she slowly and tentatively began to stroke the matted blond hair. As she searched for more words, she felt a slight tickle in her mind.  
  
_...hurts...  
_  
It took T'pol a moment to realize that the word had come from the child, although it had not been verbalized. _Of course,_ she thought. _My thoughts to your thoughts. A logical progression._   
  
[Then again, was she herself verbalizing? This interaction was all taking place in his mind—in _their_ minds—despite the fact that their projections seemed to be speaking to each other.]  
  
T'Pol shook her head, returning her focus to the task at hand. Charles, you are in pain because you survived the plasma explosion. You are in sickbay. You were badly injured, but Phlox is confident you will heal.  
  
The child did not respond. Through their link, T'pol felt confusion, suspicion, disbelief, fear. On the heels of the emotions came stray thoughts, at once both incoherent and startlingly clear: _safe?...no...fire...dead...how?...trick!...go away...hurts...  
_  
You have been unconscious for more than a week. Although your body appears to be responding to treatment, the doctor has been unable to revive you. I suggested a Vulcan technique known as a mind meld. T'Pol waited, only slightly aware that she was holding her breath.  
  
_Meld?...sickbay...Vulcan...why? _Puzzlement replaced suspicion in his mind. Then she sensed recognition. Then...more confusion. _T'Pol?...Why?  
  
_ Your condition failed to improve. The doctor could think of no other way to revive you. I suggested the mind meld technique to him as a possibility, she said again.  
  
She sensed his disbelief and suspicion return. He seemed to feel that she hadn't answered the question she had asked. He repeated it. _T'Pol?...Why?  
  
_ She realized that their connection made prevarication impossible, even a lie of omission. I was...concerned.  
  
She was unprepared for his reaction. Suspicion withered into despair, loneliness, a sense of abandonment, and a host of other negative emotions she was unable to identify. The form beneath her hand curled into an even tighter ball. She sensed rather than saw the furrowed brow, the frown, and the face wrinkled in anguish and pain. His thoughts, clearer now, lanced through her.  
  
_Not true...can't be...T'Pol...didn't care...lying...didn't want me...just an experiment...used me...can't...not...wouldn't...  
  
_ Each of the utterances was followed by a sort of mental gasp, as if forming them required all his strength. T'pol staggered beneath a flood of images from his mind: all the times he had attempted to corner her, to speak with her, to force some admission of affection from her. All the times that she had pushed him away, but from his perspective this time. And each scene that replayed itself came with his emotional response—his disappointment, his hurt, his despair, and ultimately his resignation. As overwhelming as his emotions were, they did not affect T'pol as much as the realization of the part her rejection had played in so many of the decisions he had made during their encounter with the sphere builders—including his decision to sacrifice himself during the warp core breach in engineering.  
  
He had fully expected to die. And he had not cared.  
  
T'Pol drew a steadying breath. She took the child into her arms, cradling him awkwardly. No response. Still nothing, although the negative emotions abated somewhat. T'Pol tried again. I am here. I am trying to help you. I am motivated by concern for you. You must listen to me. She used present tense verbs fiercely, willing him to accept that his life was not a thing of the past. Finally, his form unclenched itself slightly. His eyes opened, and he looked at her. T'Pol grasped at the opportunity.  
  
I am here. You are alive. You are safe. You are in sickbay, and Dr. Phlox is caring for you. As she drew breath to continue, he spoke.  
  
Doesn't look like sickbay.  
  
She glanced about. The nothingness was gone. They were on Vulcan. Mt. Seleya loomed in the distance, serene and solid. She must have unconsciously drawn on her memories of home to steady herself. Yes, this is my homeworld. It is one of my memories of Vulcan.  
  
He blinked.   
  
As I told you earlier, Commander. We are communicating with our minds. It is a Vulcan procedure known as a mind meld. Our bodies are in sickbay. You are lying on a bio-bed, unconscious, and I am maintaining our link through physical touch. Like this. T'Pol placed her fingers gently on the periphery of his cheekbones. He blinked again. She took advantage of his silence to continue. Phlox was concerned that, psychologically, you had resigned yourself to death. He believed that your mental state was inhibiting the healing process. I volunteered to meld with you in the hopes of reviving you.  
  
More blinking followed her statement. The emotional outburst seemed to have sapped the last of his energy. His emotions wavered between confusion and exhaustion.  
  
Your friends and crewmates are worried. Your family is sure to be, as well. You have a responsibility to them not to give up.  
  
He nodded weakly, his face extremely haggard. She suddenly realized that it was no longer the face of a child. The person she was cradling in her arms was now the man she knew. I know, but... He could not continue. His eyes closed. She felt him slipping away.  
  
Commander! You must not give up. T'Pol softened her tone.   
He opened his eyes again. In all their time in the Expanse, she had never seen him look so forlorn, so drained. His face was gray with exhaustion, his eyes no more than holes burnt in his head, their blue washed out and faded. I know, T'Pol, but I'm tired. So tired. His voice was a plaintive whisper. And I've _been_ so tired. For so long. I just want to rest.  
  
T'Pol tightened her grip on him. You _will_ have time to rest. When we arrive at Earth. It will take months for Enterprise to be repaired completely. You will have ample time to rest. And heal.  
  
He closed his eyes again, but T'Pol could feel his mind puzzling over her words, so she remained silent. Eventually he seemed to draw the necessary conclusions, but he lacked the strength to voice them. was all he could manage.  
  
T'Pol voiced his thoughts for him. Yes, Earth is safe. Captain Archer returned to Enterprise several days ago. The weapon was destroyed, and our truce with the Xindi stands. She watched, listened, felt, as he let out a long, slow, wavering sigh.   
  
he asked, wanting to be sure.  
  
It would seem so, Commander.  
  
She felt his satisfaction. _A job well done. _His lips twitched as if his mouth wanted to smile. Instead, he merely breathed slowly, in and out, several times. The sense of finality that accompanied the words and however, disturbed her. Had he given up? The feelings optimism and hope that she always associated with him were absent. T'Pol was wondering what her next step should be when he spoke again.  
  
Said...friends worried bout me. He weakly cocked his head at her.   
  
T'Pol nodded solemnly, looking directly into the faded blue gaze. His lips twitched again, but he closed his eyes and did not respond. They sat in companionable silence.

  
  
Yes, Commander.  
  
Do Vulcans ever smile?  
  
The non sequitur caught her off guard. Their minds had been drifting in pleasant communion with each other. His thoughts and emotions had given her no indication that he was formulating such a question—completely unrelated to anything either of them had been thinking. Did all human minds work this way? Or was this man's thought process uniquely haphazard?  
  
It is logical to assume that some Vulcans, somewhere, at some time, have smiled... But I have never been present on such an occasion. She sensed little beyond focused curiosity. Why do you ask?  
  
His brow furrowed. It's just that I've never seen you smile. You're doin' this meld thing cause you don't want me to die. Right? He looked at her for clarification. T'Pol could not see the connection—perhaps the accident had damaged his brain?—but she nodded to demonstrate that he had correctly interpreted her motives. He continued. So if I lived, you'd be...you'd be happy? You might...smile?  
  
He apparently wanted to effect some sort of exchange. His life..for..._a smile_? Yes, the accident had definitely damaged his brain. Should she break off the meld to inform Doctor Phlox? T'Pol was unsure. How did one interact with a brain-damaged human? She sought to buy herself some time.  
  
Commander, are you attempting to extort me?  
  
Wha—? Extort...Why would I... his evident confusion told her that she had misinterpreted his intent. Apparently, their mental link went only so far. The idea had obviously never entered his mind until she brought it up. His bewildered look, however, was replaced with a speculative one. Would it work?  
  
  
  
He sighed.   
  
Very much so. Vulcans do not submit to blackmail.  
  
He seemed now to realize that his question required some sort of explanation, and he struggled to provide one. T'Pol watched him, marveling that such chaotic thought processes ever resulted in complete sentences. She decided that the commander's ability to speak, even in his semi-coherent fashion, was a truly remarkable achievement.  
  
It's just that...I...You always...You always made me happy. His continued use of the past tense disturbed her immensely, and he must have felt that through their link. He bumbled on, attempting to find appropriate verb forms. I mean, you have made me happy...no...you do...you _make_ me happy. A pause for breath. Yes...You make me happy...and...I always wished...I wanted...I thought it would be great...if I could...do the same for you. His eyes seemed a bit brighter as they sought hers. You always seemed..._seem_...sad here with us. And I just wanted to make you happy. I just wish I could see you happy. His wistful gaze never wavered.  
  
T'Pol was stunned.  
  
He just wanted her to be happy. He said the words as if it were such a simple thing. And at heart, it was.  
  
How could she have ever have feared him? How could she have mistrusted him? In the three years she had known him, the evidence had always been before her. His honesty, his generosity, his joy in discovery, his crude humor, the unhealthful desserts, those ridiculous movie nights—all attested to his desire to be happy and to make others happy. His numerous attempts to engage or include her in the activities that he enjoyed now took on a completely different meaning. He had wanted to share his happiness with her. He had often singled her out for that purpose. All the actions she had interpreted as overbearing, intrusive, or illogical, had been intended for her pleasure.  
  
He just wanted her to be happy.  
  
The purity of his motives and the enormity of its effect on her left her speechless. The link was strong enough that he felt her mind roiling with thought, but her mental shields allowed her to keep the specifics to herself. He was obviously uncomfortable with her continued silence.  
  
You know...um...you realize that...that humans express happiness by smiling.  
  
I am aware of that, Commander, she snapped, immediately regretting her abrupt response. She did not require their link to feel his hurt at the perceived rejection.  
  
she said gently. He raised his eyes to hers, worried but hopeful. I am uncertain whether happy' is the correct word for the effect you have on me. His palpable disappointment touched her. However, that you _do_ have an effect on me is undeniable. Hope again. She realized that she had missed his hopefulness these last few weeks. You have always been willing to share with me. She raised an eyebrow at him. Often whether or not I wanted what you had to share. He grinned mischievously at this. The point, Comm—Charles, is that your words have made me realize that I have never shared anything with you. T'Pol took a deep breath. But I would like to do so now. And with that, she lowered her mental shields.  
  
His confusion returned. Mentally, she held a hand out to him and felt his mind hesitate at the boundary of her own. He made a few tentative overtures, and an image came to her of a familiar small boy, poking curiously at some unknown substance in a schoolroom. She felt a flash of irritation that he should compare her mind to whatever the gelatinous beige goo might have been...and felt him laugh at her reaction. She had missed his laughter, too. The ice broken, he eased his mind into her own.   
  
And she began to share.  
  
T'Pol wasn't sure what exactly she should share, but every memory she presented him elicited a response. Sometimes an emotion, sometimes an opinion, most often both. The man seemed incapable of indifference!  
  
Affection and delight over her first day of school (_Cute little pixie!_). Wilting exhaustion for a geology class field trip (_Masochistic Vulcans, hiking in this heat!)_. Scowling disapproval of a particularly negative mathematics instructor (_Old crepe hanger_) Pride in her achievement at graduating from the Vulcan Science Academy at the top of her class (_That's my girl!_). Fierce exhilaration as T'Pol physically overcame a large angry Klingon (_Whoo, T'Pol! Kick his ass!_) Indignation over her reaction to their first meeting (_ I couldn't have smelled _that_ bad._)  
  
Blind, violent fury against Tolaris (_Son of a bitch!!!_)  
  
A mental gasp of horror at her addiction to Trellium D (_What the...!?_) Shock (_How could you!?_), anger (_You could have been killed!_), and concern (_Are you okay?_) followed in quick succession.  
  
As she allowed his emotions and thoughts to wash over and through her, T'Pol realized that every one of his reactions was a product of his feelings for her. He was incapable of indifference because all these memories were hers. He could never be indifferent where she was concerned.  
  
This realization struck her all the more forcefully because it was right there at the forefront of his thoughts. He never sought to hide it. It would never have crossed his mind to do so. In his mind, strong feelings for another were not something to be hidden away. And yet, because it had been out front, hiding in plain sight, she had never realized it until this moment.  
  
They were so different! Could he ever understand just how different? How these differences would always lie between them? Could she show him?  
  
An image took shape in her mind—in their minds. They faced each other across an enormous chasm: her fear of her emotions and, by association, of him. His reaction was immediate: regret (_I didn't know!_), concern (_Is there anything I can do?_), guilt (_If you had explained it, I would have left you alone_).  
  
This last thought drew an instinctive _No!_ from her before she could suppress it. She felt his surge of elation at this admission, yet he respected her fears and maintained the distance between them. Their projections stared at each other across the chasm of their differences, both wanting to cross it, but unsure how.

T'Pol could not settle her mind. Perhaps she should not have lowered her shields. Had she continued to push him away, she could have avoided this mental turmoil. And yet avoiding the problem was illogical. Not to mention the small fact that she was currently trying to provide him a reason not to give up on life.  
  
Suddenly, an elderly, saturnine Vulcan appeared in front of her. Where had he come from?  
  
"Challenge your preconceptions, or they will challenge you, the Vulcan intoned. The statement and Charles' lingering feeling of intimidation led T'Pol to identify Mr. Velik, from the commander's 10th grade Biology class.  
  
It's really just another challenge, isn't it T'Pol? Do you really think it's as bad as all this? Charles waved toward the chasm, which had morphed into the Grand Canyon while Mr. Velik was speaking. As the Grand Canyon, the gap between them seemed less daunting. The air was hot and dry, much like her homeworld. She could see water far below. (_The Colorado River_, Charles told her.) Birds darted about (_Flycatchers, I think._), and an expedition of some sort seemed to be descending a trail to the bottom of the canyon, mounted on small gray equines. (_Burros!_) It really was quite a lovely place.  
  
And you could go down your side, and I could go down my side, and we could meet at the bottom! Charles seemed quite taken with his facile solution to their problem.  
  
There would still be the river in between, Commander, T'Pol reminded him.  
  
So we'd get a little wet. It'd be kinda nice in this heat. Her attempt to throw cold water, literally, on his plan met the brick wall of his optimism.  
  
Vulcans are not fond of water, Commander.  
  
That's just cause you haven't been introduced to the right kind of water, he reasoned. Suddenly, they were on a pier surrounded by a clear, teal-colored sea. He had respectfully kept his distance from her, even in his mind. He was at one end of the pier, dangling his feet in the water, while she stood at the other end. C'mon, get your feet wet, he encouraged. It's real nice!  
  
T'Pol looked at the water distastefully, but then a warm breeze ruffled her hair, carrying with it the brisk salty scent of the ocean. The pier moved up and down gently, as though the sea were taking deep, slow breaths. It did seem quite...nice. She sat at the edge and dipped a toe in the water. It was warm! She slid both feet in. The water rose and receded up and down her calves methodically, soothingly. It was quite a calming experience. She would not have expected him to be appreciative of such a peaceful setting. She glanced over at him, and he smiled at her endearingly.  
  
Challenges are made to be overcome, she said musingly. Facing a challenge is the only way to better oneself. He nodded eagerly, but did not interrupt. And yet, the evidence of our previous experiences with each other suggest that it would not be a single challenge, but one after the other. T'Pol frowned. More likely, multiple simultaneous challenges. T'Pol's mind conjured up a mountain of challenges.  
  
Hey, we'll be better people for it. 'Nobody climbs Mt. Everest because it's easy!' he quoted sententiously. 'It's not about the destination, it's about the journey.'  
  
And you seek to begin this journey by challenging me with tedious axioms?  
  
'The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, he prated with an air of sanctimony. Then his eyes twinkled. I guess I could have used, Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.'...But that wouldn't have been much of a challenge for a Vulcan, now would it?  
  
He was apparently more adept at ferreting information out of her mind than she had given him credit for. An unforeseen circumstance, and a somewhat disturbing one. Your current line of reasoning is not the most beneficial for arguing your case. Smugness is one of the less attractive human emotions.  
  
He laughed and was about to respond when they were interrupted.  
  
Sub-Commander? Can you hear me?  
  
It is Doctor Phlox. I believe we may have to leave this debate for another time, Commander, T'Pol informed him. The doctor would allow me only an hour to perform the procedure. It would appear that our time is up. The way his face fell would have been comical, had the emotion responsible for his reaction not pierced her as well. She attempted to soothe him. Given my previous experience with this procedure, it is only logical that the doctor would exercise caution.  
  
This reference to Tolaris caused a surge of rage. she cried, unprepared for the bombardment. You must control your emotions! The unpleasant pressure in her mind diminished slightly, but his narrowed eyes and fierce scowl suggested that he had only slightly curbed his anger. Charles, while I appreciate your...concern, it is illogical to become so emotional over an incident that is past. The past cannot be changed, therefore your anger is impractical.  
  
The stubborn set of his jaw indicated that he did not agree with her logic. Yeah, but—  
  
I suspect that this is one of those challenges that must be overcome, she interrupted. He was taken aback. You will be a better person for it, Commander. His continued silence led her to take advantage of the priceless opportunity. Nobody climbs Mt. Everest because it is easy.'  
  
Now his narrowed eyes were just for her. His mouth twisted to one side as he contemplated her skeptically. Thought you said smugness was one of the less attractive emotions, he accused.  
  
T'Pol paused, considering. Perhaps its attractiveness fluctuates depending upon the situation. It will certainly bear further study.  
  
Charles looked at her in disbelief and then threw back his head and roared with laughter, as she had known he would. She delighted in the experience as if it were her own: face tilted up toward the sun, shoulders shaking, chest heaving, lungs pumping. His whole body joined in his happiness. And so did she.  
  
They made each other happy.Enterprise was on its night cycle when T'Pol returned to sickbay. Although she had felt invigorated by the meld, her body disagreed. She had slept for 12 hours. Upon waking, she retrieved her messages. The first was from Phlox. Commander Tucker was more responsive to treatment, and had regained consciousness several hours after the meld. The doctor concluded that the procedure had been a success and was happy to tell her so.  
  
Of course, you were the first person he asked about. I informed him that you were recuperating from the procedure. He seemed worried, but I told him you were fine, merely tired. Phlox cheerfully prattled on, giving her every last detail of the commander's condition before allowing her ten minutes of visiting time. No more than that, Sub-Commander. Mr. Tucker still has a good deal of healing to do!  
  
As she approached the bio-bed, she marveled at how frail he appeared. He was still attached to numerous machines, bandages covered the right half of his face, and the hair on that side of his head had been singed to stubble. Still, his color was much better than it had been before the meld. The doctor's optimism appeared to be warranted.  
  
She had been standing beside his bed for only a few moments when his eyes popped open, as if he had sensed her presence. The delight on his face at seeing her—or at least on the half not covered by bandages—tugged at something inside her. Something that would goad her into descending into the canyon, no doubt.  
  
His voice was ragged and hoarse. She immediately held up a hand to silence him.  
  
Phlox has told me that your respiratory system was severely damaged. He warned that any speech would tax it unnecessarily, and might delay the healing process.  
  
Her response deterred him, but only for a moment.  
  
  
  
Commander, please! Anything you feel you must say to me can surely wait! She gave him her most severe and forbidding look. He hesitated, but again, only for a moment.  
  
As T'Pol continued to give him the stern look, he played his trump card.   
  
She sighed. He must feel honor-bound to thank her. Stubborn human. So be it. She inclined her head regally, giving him permission.  
  
  
  
T'Pol gaped. She had expected _some_ expression of affection, but not this one. From her experience with Earth literature and popular culture, human females spent years, sometimes decades, attempting to get human males to make this declaration. And this emotional, undisciplined human, bandaged like a legendary Egyptian mummy and scorched like one of Ensign Sato's culinary tragedies, was making it to her from a reclining position on a sickbay bio-bed.  
  
Although her eyes never left his face, she suddenly realized that she was clutching his hand. She knew that she must have initiated the contact, as he was far too weak to do so. She took a deep breath. Her body was apparently wiser than her mind. Or more foolish. Or both. She laid her other hand over his, so that it was clasped between hers.  
  
she began, unaware of how the sentence would end until it was out of her mouth. I...share...your feeling.  
  
It wasn't until Doctor Phlox interrupted them 4 minutes and 23 seconds later that she realized she had also been sharing his smile. 


End file.
